


Beneath the Skin

by yet_intrepid



Series: oh rise with me forever [2]
Category: Star Wars - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Gen, Pre-The Phantom Menace, Slavery, Tatooine
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-03-26
Updated: 2015-03-26
Packaged: 2018-03-19 19:29:25
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 771
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3621549
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/yet_intrepid/pseuds/yet_intrepid
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"Anakin doesn’t know what planet she comes from, but it’s somewhere far away from Tatooine. She doesn’t look like she’ll ever belong here, with the sand and the noise and the gambling." </p>
<p>Five things Anakin notices about Padmé when she joins him in slavery.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Beneath the Skin

V.

She’s pretty. She’s really pretty, like maybe an angel. Anakin doesn’t know what planet she comes from, but it’s somewhere far away from Tatooine. She doesn’t look like she’ll ever belong here, with the sand and the noise and the gambling. With a chip beneath her skin.

IV.

She never stops talking about the Republic.

Not how Watto does, laughing at people who come into the shop and try to buy with credits. Not the way the smugglers do, either, swearing about blockades and inspections and tightened regulations. Not even like the honest trading pilots that come through, gossiping about rigged elections and whispering news of wars.

The Republic’s where she comes from, where she’s dead sure she’s getting back to. The Republic hates slavery; the Republic wouldn’t stand for the way they’re being treated; if only the Republic knew, something would happen.

Padmé talks about the Republic like it’s supposed to fix what’s wrong in the world, and she’s right about lots of things but Anakin’s pretty sure she’s wrong about this.

III.

She’s a bad slave. A really, really bad slave.

Not like Anakin’s a good one. A visiting pilot called him _insolent_ once, and he took the word home that evening, showing it off like a trophy. But he does his work and he knows how far he can push. He knows how to make his backtalk sound like a kid mouthing off, not a slave being defiant.

Padmé doesn’t. Or else she doesn’t care. Every word out of her mouth is a challenge to the whole system. Even the way she stands looks like a free person.

“Be careful,” Mom’s always telling her.

“I am careful,” Padmé says. “I call Raxt _master_ now.”

She does. But she does it with an even voice, with unlowered eyes and a sideways tilt of the head. She might call him _master_ , but she doesn’t believe it.

Anakin watched her argue with Raxt once, and for a second he was scared Raxt would reach for the transmitter and blow her up right there.

II.

She cries.

Anakin never saw anyone so brave cry before. Mom doesn’t cry, not ever. And he doesn’t much either anymore. When he was little, he did, but it was embarrassing. But Padmé’s big, bigger than Anakin, and she doesn’t even try to hide it.

The first time, she hasn’t gotten whipped or anything. They’re just sitting at the table together, talking about how Watto’s planning to hire Mom out to the moisture farms next week, since shop work is slow, and suddenly Padmé stands up and knocks her chair over.

“You mean,” she says, “Watto would make you just—leave Anakin alone? For a week?”

Mom looks down at the table. She looks sad, and Anakin doesn’t want her to be sad.

“Hey,” he says. “I’m almost nine. I can take care of myself. Besides, you’ll come over.”

“Watto doesn’t know about me,” Padmé shoots back. “And almost nine is still eight.”

Mom gets up, too, and starts putting away the dishes. “I can count on Ani,” she says. “But I worry. Once I was sent out to the farms with no warning, when he had already gone into the shop, and he did not know where I was for two days.”

Padmé blinks. Stares at Mom, stares at Anakin. And then she collapses back against the wall, a sob shuddering through her, and tears start flooding down her face.

“It’s so wrong,” she gasps out. “So wrong.”

“It was okay,” Anakin tries to tell her. “See? I’m okay.”

But she keeps crying, shaking her head, and finally Anakin goes over and wraps his arms around her. Mom’s there too, rubbing circles on her back, but Padmé keeps whispering: so wrong, so wrong.

I.

She belongs with them. Not here, maybe, on Tatooine, and definitely not in slavery; she’s too proud and bright for that. But with him, and Mom. Padmé fits, from the way she laughs at Threepio to the stories she tells about the planets she’s seen and the anger that rises in her when she hears about slaves being wagered on pod races. She doesn’t live with them, not technically, but before long her blanket and change of clothes have taken up residence in the Skywalker home.

When he goes past on errands, Anakin sees her standing stiffly at the counter of the smugglers’ shop. But then she sees him, and the secret smile at the corner of her lips changes everything.

And Anakin knows: a chip might pulse beneath her skin, but their friendship is in her muscle, heart, and blood.

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [Beneath the Skin](https://archiveofourown.org/works/9286979) by [vinrebelle](https://archiveofourown.org/users/vinrebelle/pseuds/vinrebelle)




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